


Better Late

by e_wills



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Pointless fluff, fluff for the sake of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 08:11:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14890821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/e_wills/pseuds/e_wills
Summary: Claire faces being stood up at the dance thanks to her boyfriend's never-ending responsibilities.





	Better Late

Claire sat at one of the tables in corner. She felt conspicuous, though no one was paying her any attention. Her classmates were too busy with one another, adrift in the miasma of teenage hormones; the faculty chaperones had their work cut out for them that night. It was homecoming, and the moon shone brightly between carefully hung streamers and glittering cardboard starbursts. The low iridescent atmosphere—crossed beams of heavily filtered mood lighting—aided in wandering hands and pubescent longing. The bass beats from the latest hits rattled the gymnasium, stirring up all the cliched romance of high school dances with little resistance from even the most ardent cynics. And Claire was the only one without a date.

Her evening had started out exciting enough, but now she felt ridiculous. Silver confetti stuck to her heels and her chiffon dress was too tight for sulking teenage posture. The time she had spent on her hair and makeup alone was lamentable, with only the neglected punch-bowl to keep her company. Not even Toby had bothered to show up.

Perhaps he couldn’t bear to see Darci dancing with Steve Palchuk? He had procrastinated as usual, missing his opportunity to ask her, much to Darci’s annoyance; and he probably would’ve looked as sullen as Eli, running the voting booth for homecoming king and queen.

To make matters worse, the DJ played the latest vapid pop song that made Claire’s ears bleed. So, she suffered alone, occasionally checking her phone in the feeble hope that Jim texted her again. And though no alerts popped up on her home screen, she reread the last message he sent her:

[Duty calls. There when I can.]—that was all he had said.

Claire dressed up that evening with a mounting sense of unease. Jim could’ve meant any number of things by that text—from the completely innocuous to something far more worrisome. He hadn’t bothered to extrapolate, even for her very urgent three-question mark reply. Toby did not seem concerned when she called him to dig deeper.

“Well, Jim hasn’t said anything to  _me,_ ”he had told her, rather emphatically. “He said he’d be there, so I wouldn’t worry. Oh! And tell Darci I’m thinking about her—”

Claire had scoffed and hung up the phone. 

That was three hours ago, and still no further word from Jim nor Toby. They both could be dense. And reckless. Claire couldn’t bear the thought of them getting tangled up in troll hunting business while she sat there, moping in all her glamour. Would they not think to call her, first? The audacity!

She huffed, gathered up her things—which amounted to one clutch bag—and strode for the exit. Mary and Darci attempted to flag her down, but she just kept walking with urgently clicking heels. She reached the heavy double doors, throwing them open with all her might—only to nearly collide with Jim.

“Claire!” he exclaimed, breathless. A wrinkled dress shirt was haphazardly tucked into what was likely the nicest pair of jeans he owned. He had, at least, thrown on a tie.

“Jim! You’re here!” she replied, both surprised and a little disbelieving.

“Y-yeah,” he chuckled nervously. “I told you I would be…but then Blinky showed up. He had something important to tell me about—well I guess it really doesn’t matter. You know how he likes to talk—”

Claire interrupted him with a kiss that, for the moment, stunned him into a thoroughly pleased silence. He grinned, and they stood there, hovering between the gymnasium and the courtyard outside. The dance continued, but they were frozen and flustered by the cumbersome nature of adolescence.

“You…you look amazing,” Jim said, and his sincerity was as plain as ever.

Claire reflexively tucked a loose bit of hair behind her ear, taking in his lazy attractiveness. He looked as though he had gotten ready in five minutes or less—and perhaps he had. She quickly scanned him over for fresh injuries or bruises, and there did not appear to be any.

“You look…very much like yourself,” she replied, gently touching his chest—and his heart bounded beneath her fingertips.

“In a good way?” he asked.

Claire took him by the hand, and they slipped back into the gym. “In the best way.”

They made their way to the tables, so she could set down her clutch bag. From there, she pulled Jim onto the dance floor.

“I hate this song,” he confessed as his hands fell so politely on her waist.

“Me too.” Claire wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him. “But it’ll do for now.”


End file.
